Vow of Penance (5 page)

‘It was no bother,’ Sister Joan assured him. ‘Mrs Fairly was in anyway.’

‘Busy as ever.’ He sighed slightly as if the housekeeper’s busyness wearied him. ‘Father Malone will be well on his way now. Father Timothy has requested that he be permitted to share the ministry up here at the convent. I suspect that he feels more at ease with other religious, never having had a parish before.’

Sister Joan couldn’t imagine Father Timothy being much at ease anywhere but reminded herself that it wasn’t fair to judge on one meeting.

‘Well, I must get on.’ Father Stephens was consulting his watch. ‘Thank you again, Sister. No, no, I’ll see myself out. I won’t interrupt your labours.’

As he went out into the passage again she bit back a heartfelt wish that he would interrupt a task she had never much enjoyed. Preparing and cooking food wasn’t one of her favourite occupations. For an instant her fingers ached for the feel of a brush loaded with colour, the sight of a blank canvas balanced on its easel, and then the painful craving ebbed and she picked up the potato peeler again.

The afternoon grew stormier, clouds scudding across the pale grey of the horizon. The potatoes were boiling, ready to be mashed and used to cover the boiled cabbage in a cottage pie without meat. Sister Jerome was scrubbing the back steps, careless of the cold as it pierced through habit and veil. Probably she was glad of the chance to do a bit more penance, Sister Joan
thought, and ordered herself to tack on an extra decade of the rosary to remind herself to be more charitable in her thoughts.

The telephone in the passage rang, startling the silence. She hastened to answer it lest the continued noise would disturb the old ladies who were having their afternoon sleep.

‘The Convent of Our Lady of Compassion. Sister Joan here.’

‘Sister, it’s Mrs Fairly – from the presbytery.’ The voice was distorted by a crackling line.

‘Mrs Fairly, what can I do for you?’ Sister Joan asked, crushing down a sense of impending anxiety.

The housekeeper was the last person to disturb the community with a non-urgent call.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, Sister,’ Mrs Fairly’s voice apologized, ‘but I wondered if you were coming down into town this week.’

‘I have to come in tomorrow to stock up on a few things,’ Sister Joan said.

‘I wondered if we might have a coffee?’ Mrs Fairly said.

‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Fairly,’ Sister Joan began awkwardly, ‘but you know this being Lent—’

‘You cut down on visits. Yes, I do know, and I wouldn’t ask you but – if you could possibly meet me, Sister, I’d take your advice as to what exactly to do.’

‘I could call in at the presbytery,’ Sister Joan said.

‘No. Not the presbytery. Perhaps we could have a coffee at the café opposite the chemist. Do you know it?’

‘Sister Hilaria and I had a coffee there after she’d been to the dentist,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Mrs Fairly, is anything wrong?’

‘I hope not, Sister.’ The voice sounded doubtful, died into a crackle and came back, blurred by atmospherics. ‘New lay— remembered where— not willing to trouble Father with— ten tomorrow?’

‘Ten tomorrow then.’ Sister Joan heard the click of the receiver at the other end before she had finished speaking.

Mother Dorothy frowned slightly when her
permission
was sought.

‘Your reason for driving into town is a purely practical one, Sister,’ she said reprovingly. ‘I do think, particularly during Lent, that social contacts should be kept to an absolute minimum.’

‘Mrs Fairly sounded troubled, Mother. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.’

‘She has two priests living in the same house if her trouble is a spiritual one,’ Mother Dorothy said.

‘Shall I telephone her and tell her that I can’t meet her then?’ Sister Joan asked meekly.

‘Since you seem to have made some kind of arrangement,’ Mother Dorothy said, her voice edged with thick frost, ‘then you had better go, I suppose. Certainly it’s not very sensible to start running up telephone bills. You’ll tell me if the matter concerns the community, of course.’

‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’

‘If it does not then you really ought not to concern yourself with it,’ Mother Dorothy was continuing. ‘You are scarcely qualified to offer personal advice, Sister.’

‘No, Mother, I’ll make that clear to Mrs Fairly,’ Sister Joan said.

‘I was going to send Sister Jerome into town with you when you next went so that you could acquaint her with the shops we patronize. Apparently she has a current driving licence and will be able to take the burden of marketing off your shoulders, but if you are requested to meet Mrs Fairly you’d better go in alone.’

‘I don’t think,’ Sister Joan ventured, ‘that Sister Jerome would enjoy trips into town, Mother.’

‘Since you know nothing whatsoever about Sister Jerome’s likes and dislikes,’ Mother Dorothy said coldly,
‘you really are not in a position to pass an opinion, Sister Joan.’

‘No, Mother.’

‘You had better go and check that the correct seasonings have been added to our supper,’ Mother Dorothy said, dismissing her.

‘Yes, Mother.’

Feeling less chastened than she might have done Sister Joan withdrew, distinctly cheered by the faint twinkle in her superior’s eyes.

Supper was palatable despite the boiled cabbage. Whether Sister Jerome had added anything or not to her own was impossible to tell since she never altered the stony expression on her face.

‘You will all have heard by now,’ Mother Dorothy said at the conclusion of the meal, ‘about the act of vandalism perpetrated in the grounds. I have, naturally, asked if any of you heard or saw anything and I’ve talked over the problem with Father Stephens. He agrees with me that it would be useless to inform the police. By now the culprits are probably a long way off, and even reporting it would involve our local constabulary in a great deal of unnecessary paperwork, so for the moment we will keep it to ourselves. I would ask you to be vigilant, however. If you notice any strangers in the grounds do please inform either Sister Perpetua or myself.’

The community filed into recreation which, it being Lent, was more subdued than usual. Not, reflected Sister Joan, that recreation at any time was a riot of pleasure. Conversation was expected to be general with no personal details referred to and fingers were expected to keep busy with knitting or sewing.

She was tired by the time the last blessing had been given, the postulants speeded on their way with Sister Hilaria, Alice let out for the last time, the doors and the windows locked and checked, the few lights that
remained burning in chapel and hall reduced to a dim red glow. The storm which had threatened seemed to have passed without breaking but the sky was a peculiar leaden shade with no trace of a moon. Perhaps it was the threat of storm that had given her this feeling of something overshadowing her, of something that hovered just out of sight.

She had moved her things back to the cell she had occupied before she became acting lay sister, leaving the two cells leading off the kitchen for Sister Jerome and Sister Teresa. The professed cells were tiny rooms opening off the narrow corridor which ran above the kitchen wing, each identical with its narrow bed, stool, hooks on the back of the door for clothes, basin and ewer. A shelf against the wall held her Missal and the book in which she noted her own spiritual progress. Since reading it made her feel somewhat miserable she seldom glanced back through the latter. The larger cell which was Mother Dorothy’s domain during her term as prioress was at one side of her own, a vacant cell at the other side. On the other side of the corridor Sisters Perpetua, Katherine, David and Martha slept. The empty cell would be fitted up for Sister Teresa during her year of seclusion. Sister Joan thought of her own year of silence and of solitude, when she spoke only to her priest and mistress of novices, ate alone, wore the dense black veil that cut her off from view and curtailed her own vision of the world. Never again would Sister Teresa be so alone, yet never would she feel less abandoned, buoyed up by the prayers and gentle glances of her sisters. It was when one came into the full community, balancing spiritual with the mundane, that the real loneliness could begin. At which point in her musing Sister Joan dropped into an uneasy sleep in which she walked veiled down endless corridors, hearing somewhere a crying voice seeking help and finding none.

She was relieved when she woke before her usual time and, seeing the first streaks of dawn outside the window, was justified in rising. By the time she had cleaned her teeth, washed, and donned her habit and veil, the threatening images of the night had withdrawn and she picked up the wooden rattle and began her morning rounds with relief.

‘Christ is risen!’

From one cell to the next she made the customary announcement, recalling how the loud whirring of the rattle had startled her from slumber in the early days. From each cell came the customary response, ‘Thanks be to God’, each utterance slightly different as each member of the community struggled into awareness of a new day.

When she entered the kitchen the other two sisters were already up, and there were signs of life from the infirmary. Sister Teresa sent a cheerful morning smile. Sister Jerome kept her head lowered as she drew water for the kettles.

By 5.30 the sisters were in the chapel for the hour of private devotions which preceded early mass. Father Malone and Father Stephens drove up to the convent on a weekly rota basis to offer the mass and occasionally were a few minutes late but this morning, promptly on the half-hour, Father Timothy emerged from the tiny room that served as sacristy and began the service. There was a tiny ripple of interest among the community as he mounted the altar steps and opened the Bible.

He offered the mass with a fervour that surprised her. It was as if, outwardly passionless, he threw all the resources of his soul into the reenactment of the Sacrifice. Somehow or other she had expected something more hesitant, more pedantic.

He had obviously come in by way of the outer door and he departed the same way, not stopping to
introduce himself to the community over a cup of coffee. Even Father Stephens came up to the refectory, she thought, and wondered if the new priest considered such small courtesies unnecessary.

At least it wasn’t raining. She finished her early chores, took the shopping list that Sister Perpetua had written, and went out to the garage. One day they’d have to buy a new car since it was highly doubtful that this one would pass another MOT test. Settling herself behind the wheel, Sister Joan knew a short moment of regret. The old car had done good service.

It was past ten by the time she had completed her purchases, stowed them in the boot, and set off briskly for the café where Sister Hilaria had once been persuaded into a cup of coffee. At this hour and on such a cold, grey day it was almost deserted. Certainly there was no sign yet of Mrs Fairly. Sister Joan ordered tea for two and poured herself a cup, keeping an eye out through the plate glass window where the street was filling with morning shoppers. One of them, a tall, dark man with a rugged aspect, paused as he caught sight of her, hesitated, then came in.

‘Good morning, Sister Joan. I thought they didn’t let you out during Lent.’

‘Detective Sergeant Mill, how nice to see you!’ She responded cordially to his firm handshake.

‘Busy as ever. Are you playing truant, Sister?’

‘Not guilty, Detective Sergeant Mill. I’m waiting for Mrs Fairly. She asked me to meet her here.’

‘When?’ His glance was suddenly keen.

‘At ten this morning but she’s a little late – oh, she telephoned the convent yesterday afternoon. Why?’

‘May I join you, Sister?’ He sat down and reached for the extra cup. ‘Was Mrs Fairly a particular friend of yours?’

‘We don’t have particular – you said “was”. Has something happened?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve just come from the presbytery,’ he said, pouring tea carefully. ‘Mrs Fairly was found this morning by Father Stephens. Suicide, I’m afraid. No doubt about it at all.’

‘Dead?’ Sister Joan’s hand rose automatically to bless herself as she uttered the word.

‘I’m afraid so, Sister. We were called in at seven this morning.’

‘Not the medical authorities?’ She sipped her tea trying to take in what had happened along with the soothingly hot liquid.

‘Father Stephens rang the station. He had dialled 999 and when the operator asked if he wanted Fire, Police or Ambulance he blurted out the latter two. I was on early call so I went along to the presbytery.’

‘And she was dead?’

‘Had been for several hours according to the doctor. Apparently she gets up around five-thirty every morning and gets everything ready for Father Malone and Father Stephens.’

‘One of them comes up to the convent to offer mass at six-thirty in our chapel while the other offers a later mass at seven-fifteen in the parish church,’ Sister Joan nodded. ‘The new priest, Father Timothy, was at the convent this morning.’

‘Father Stephens became anxious when six o’clock came and there was no sign of Mrs Fairly but he left it a further half-hour before he tried to rouse her. By then Father Timothy had already left for the convent. Father Stephens rang at once and we got there a couple of minutes ahead of the ambulance.’

‘You said – suicide?’ Sister Joan set down her cup and pressed her hands together tightly.

‘There was an empty bottle of Valium,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘It was on her bedside table. Apparently she was prescribed the drug about six years ago after her husband died to help her through the trauma. She went on taking it – no more than a couple of tablets a day but even that amount can become addictive.’

‘Then it could have been an accident,’ Sister Joan said eagerly. ‘It’s possible that continual use of a drug can cause it to pile up in the system, perhaps?’

‘Not Valium,’ he said. ‘Anyway she’d had her prescription renewed only a couple of days ago. There were forty tablets in the bottle. Father Stephens recalled her taking it out of her shopping bag when she brought in some groceries. She’d evidently crushed the lot into a paste and drunk them with tea and a splash of whisky.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘She was in the habit of adding a splash of whisky to her last cup of tea at night. She used to brew it in the kitchen and take it up to drink when she was in bed.’

‘Whisky and Valium aren’t very safe partners.’

‘She took two mild-strength tablets in the mornings and she had her tipple last thing at night by which time the drug would have passed through her system anyway. No, there were traces of the powdered tablets in the dregs of the tea and whisky. Nobody could have drunk that by accident.’

‘There wasn’t any note?’

‘Nothing at all. People don’t always leave notes behind, you know. Father Stephens said that she’d seemed
distraite
last evening. He got the impression that there was something she wanted to say to him but he was busy all evening telling the new priest about his parish duties so the opportunity didn’t arise.’

‘She wanted to speak to me,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She
rang the convent and asked me if I was coming into town for any groceries this morning and, if so, would I meet her here for a chat.’

‘She didn’t mention what it was she wished to talk about?’

‘Something she’d remembered—’ Sister Joan
hesitated
. ‘Then the line started to crackle and she rang off. I asked Mother Dorothy for leave to meet her here and came along this morning.’

‘You said that you don’t have particular friends,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said, ‘but you know as well as I do that even nuns like some people more than others.’

‘I hardly knew Mrs Fairly at all,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Yesterday, after Father Malone’s send-off, I showed Father Timothy to the presbytery and she asked me in for a cup of tea before I went back to the convent. She seemed a nice, ordinary woman, rather proud of being housekeeper for the priests – not in a nasty way but being in that job does confer a certain status in the parish.’

‘Was she upset about Father Malone going away for a year?’

‘Well, naturally she was going to miss him – oh no!’ Sister Joan broke off, her dark-blue eyes twinkling despite her distress at the news she had just heard. ‘If you’re thinking she had a crush on Father Malone, forget it. Contrary to popular myth housekeepers don’t fall in love with their priests, and Father Malone is scarcely likely to inspire an unrequited passion. No, she was sure that she was going to miss him but she was looking forward to having a newcomer to do things for and boss about. Fuss over, I ought to say. In a maternal sort of way. Certainly she wasn’t in any deep depression when I saw her yesterday.’

‘But she was –
distraite
when she spoke to you over the telephone?’

‘It was merely an impression I had. She sounded –
uncertain, puzzled about something or other. Anyway we agreed to meet and then I had to go and ask for leave from Mother Dorothy.’

‘Make your arrangements and then ask for
permission
?’ His voice teased her.

‘It was an oversight,’ she said, her mouth quirking. ‘Anyway Mother Dorothy decided it was better to allow me to have my meeting rather than waste money on a phone call cancelling it, and there was always the possibility that I might have been able to help out in some way.’

‘Don’t blame yourself in this affair,’ he said quickly. ‘It isn’t your fault that she decided to put an end to herself.’

‘She couldn’t have committed suicide,’ Sister Joan said flatly. ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot possibly believe that for one moment.’

‘Because she was a Catholic? Sister, Catholics do sometimes commit suicide.’

‘Not Mrs Fairly.’ She spoke flatly and with conviction. ‘She wasn’t the type.’

‘How many suicides have you known personally, Sister?’

‘None really. That makes no difference. Mrs Fairly didn’t commit suicide. She may have taken mild doses of Valium and she was certainly troubled about something but she wanted to talk about it with me. And she was fond of Father Malone; she’d not have been so selfish as to kill herself the instant his back was turned.’

‘Then you’re saying she was murdered?’

He spoke mildly enough but the word made an ugly pattern in the air.

‘No, of course not! That’s completely ridiculous!’ she said sharply.

‘As you say.’ He finished his tea and rose, bringing out a handful of change.

‘I was the one ordered the tea,’ she began.

‘And I helped you to drink it. I’ll put it on the expense account. How are they up at the convent?’

‘Very well, thank you. We have a new lay sister. Sister Jerome.’

‘And what job are you doing at the moment?’

‘General dogsbody,’ she said lightly. ‘I help out where I’m needed.’

‘I’m almost sorry that I won’t be needing your help in this affair,’ he said.

‘You make it sound as if I was permanently attached to the local police force.’

‘Not at all,’ he said easily. ‘You’re a religious with no criminal expertise at all, but when there’s something to be discovered you do seem to be in the right place at the right time.’

‘Mother Dorothy would call it the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘And what would you call it?’ he challenged.

‘An interruption to my spiritual progress,’ she said firmly.

And excitement to lift her spirits when the day-to-day routine became too tedious to endure. The incisive conversation of a man instead of the bland chatter of the daily recreation. The opportunity to re-enter, however obliquely, the world she had renounced.

‘It was nice seeing you again,’ she said, denying the thoughts bubbling up in her. ‘I’m very sorry to learn about Mrs Fairly. I will tell Mother Dorothy though I expect Father Stephens will have already telephoned her. Do you know if she had any family?’

‘A niece. Father Stephens said he would inform her of her aunt’s death. The body has been taken to the mortuary by the way.’

‘For an autopsy? Then you do think—?’

‘As a matter of routine. Attempts were made to revive her in the ambulance but she’d been dead for several hours. It was straightforward suicide, Sister. The
inquest will be a routine matter. “Suicide while the balance of the mind was disturbed” probably.’

‘Very neat and tidy,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Thank you for the tea, Sergeant.’ She went out ahead of him, turning briefly to smile before she walked swiftly back to her car.

Detective Sergeant Mill was an irritant in her existence. She liked him, respected his professionalism, had helped him out more than once, but the rigid line she drew between them, though of her own making, only served to remind her that she was not free to respond to any overture of affection no matter how innocent. He had mentioned once that he had two boys and that his marriage was unhappy but she hadn’t invited any further confidences and he had offered none. She hoped he had sorted out his marital difficulties but knew she would never enquire.

Driving back across the moor, automatically changing gears, swerving to avoid a reckless young rabbit, she found her thoughts occupied with Mrs Fairly.
Twenty-four
hours before the housekeeper had been a living, breathing, human being and now she was bone and flesh laid on a mortuary slab, the tag of ‘Suicide’ already being applied to her. A middle-aged, respectable, Catholic woman whose small faults had been as nothing set against the wickedness of the world had suddenly and unaccountably become agitated and depressed and killed herself with a huge overdose of Valium crushed into a paste and mixed with tea and whisky. Such things did sometimes happen. But not this time. Not this time! Her every instinct told her that this suicide was too neat, too – convenient for somebody? What was it that Mrs Fairly had said exactly over that crackling telephone line? Something about the new lay–? New lay sister? Sister Jerome? She banged her fist on the rim of the driving wheel as the words that Mrs Fairly had used, not over the telephone, but as she was seeing her out of the presbytery returned to her. Mrs Fairly said she’d read
about Sister Jerome somewhere, but couldn’t recall exactly where. If she didn’t think too hard about it the answer would come to her. And then it had apparently come and she’d wanted to discuss the matter with someone.

‘Only she didn’t get the chance,’ Sister Joan said aloud.

And she wasn’t going to get the chance to pursue the subject. There were no suspicious circumstances accompanying the death, no chance of it having been an accident, no way she could think of in which a healthy, vigorous woman could have been forced to swallow such a concoction.

An unwelcome thought struck her as she drove through the gates. Was it possible that she craved the excitement of a possible murder? The notion was disquieting in the extreme since it clashed with all her longings for a peaceful, uncluttered life.

‘Your first loyalty must be to God, the second to the rule of our Order, the third to the rest of your community, the rest to those, whether lay or religious, who seek your help or would profit from your prayers.’

She could hear the beautifully modulated tones of Mother Agnes, visualize her former superior’s grave, Gothic features. That had been when she herself had been a postulant and what one learned as a postulant formed the kernel of the whole fruit of one’s future religious life. Edging the car round into the garage Sister Joan wished she had a simpler, less cluttered personality. For the other sisters priorities seemed clear. For herself there was always the inner conflict.

‘You were a very long time, Sister,’ Mother Dorothy said, coming out of the back door as Sister Joan lugged in the groceries.

‘I’m sorry, Mother. I waited for Mrs Fairly but Detective Sergeant Mill was passing by the café and came in to tell me what had happened.’
‘Father Stephens was good enough to telephone me about twenty minutes ago,’ Mother Dorothy said. Behind her gold-coloured spectacles her eyes were troubled. ‘I only knew Mrs Fairly very slightly but the news shocked me greatly. Do you think her request for a meeting with you this morning was linked with whatever was preying on her mind?’

I’ve no idea, Mother. It’s possible, but she didn’t seem to me to have something so serious on her mind that it would lead her to do such a thing.’

‘Let me help you with the bags, Sister.’ The prioress relieved her of a large one and looked at it critically. ‘Plastic has its detractors, I understand,’ she said, ‘but these make excellent growbags for Sister Martha’s vegetables and fruit bushes. Let Sister Jerome put the groceries away and come through to the parlour.’

Sister Jerome who was on her knees, cleaning the oven as vigorously as if she were punishing it, rose silently and took the bags, lifting them without apparent effort on to the kitchen table. Sister Joan lingered to take off her cloak and her overshoes before following the prioress.

‘Sit down, Sister.’ Mother Dorothy indicated a stool and herself took the high-backed chair reserved for the prioress. She had held the post now for nearly two years and in three more would be replaced by whichever one of her sisters was voted for by the others.

‘Since you have already learned from Detective Sergeant Mill of the recent sad and shocking event there is no need for me to discuss the details with you,’ Mother Dorothy was continuing. ‘I’m sure if you had any information bearing on the matter you would have passed it on to Detective Sergeant Mill. I shall merely inform the rest of the community that Mrs Fairly, whom few of them even knew by sight, has died suddenly and we will, of course, offer the customary prayers. I must say that I was exceedingly shocked when Father
Stephens told me what had happened. I feel particularly sorry for Father Malone.’

‘Is he to be told?’ Sister Joan looked up sharply.

‘Father Stephens feels and I agree with him that it would serve no good purpose to spoil Father’s pleasure in his trip by telling him yet especially as there is nothing he can do that cannot be done equally well by others. In a month or two, by which time he may well have begun to wonder why he hasn’t heard anything from Mrs Fairly, Father Stephens will write and tell him what has occurred. If it were a death as the result of a sudden illness, an accident even, then one might not mind for him so much, but he will blame himself for not having realized the poor woman was so near desperation. It must have been a brainstorm surely.’